The CyberBoxingZone News

Bruno on Boxing
Joe Bruno

November 24, 1999

Bruno on Boxing

By Joe Bruno---Former Vice President of the New York Boxing Writers Association and the International Boxing Writers Association

News Item: The Revolutionary War--Round 2

It was the most devastating British invasion since the Beatles and the Dave Clark Five.

Britisher Paul Ingle and quasi Britisher Lennox Lewis (heís a Canadian citizen and represented Canada in the 1988 Olympics) strode into Madison Square Garden last night and annihilated two Americans in the Yankís own backyard; God bless the Queen.

Ingle retained his IBF Featherweight title with an exciting 11th round TKO over over-aged and undersized hometown favorite Junior Jones from Brooklyn. Jones, the former bantamweight champ, gave it all he had, being constantly exhorted on between rounds by trainer/turned TV-commentator/back-to-trainer-for-this-fight---Teddy Atlas.

After a see-saw first eight rounds with neither fighter gaining a decided advantage, Atlas, also a native New Yorker, barked at Jones between rounds, "How long have you been fighting, twenty years?" Jones: "Yeah. Twenty years." Atlas: "Well I just need 12 more minutes from you. Can you do it." Jones: "Yeah, I can do it." And that Jones did, when in the ninth round, he caught Ingle with a straight right to the face. Ingle flew flat on his rump and rolled backwards, legs high up in the air. Ingle was up at seven, but Jones has fired his last bullet.

The rest of the fight was Ingle landing lefts and right, and Jones looking at the referee Steve Smoger like, "What he just did to me. Is that legal?"

In round 11, Jonesí legs looked like those of a young pony. A barrage by Ingle drove Jones into the ropes. Jones looked at the ref again for help. Smoger obliged by giving Jones a dubious eight count. The ref ruled not a standing eight count, but claimed the ropes had held Jones from falling, thereby constituting a knockdown.

Jones immediately grabbed Ingle in a clinch and Ingel threw Jones to the canvas. Jones protested to Smoger. Smoger ruled no knockdown. Ingle snorted, and battered Jones into the corner again. Jones looked at Smoker, this time like: "You canít give me a baseball bat to part his scalp, so please stop this fight before I get myself killed."

Smoger did and Jones didnít. So much for the good news for America last night.

The second fight between undisputed heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis and six-foot seven-inch Michael Grant was, in fact, not much of a fight. The most interesting thing Grant did all night was holding hands in a payer session in his dressing room minutes before he entered the ring. Grant and several other righteous knuckleheads grasped hands in a circle, head down, beseeching God to spearhead a divine struggle in favor of poor old Michael Grant. What these dopes either forgot, or never considered in the first place, was that God, being all just and all that, views Lennox Lewis as one of his disciples too.

After Lewis took Grant, like Grant took Richmond, maybe now they all understand the mysterious ways of the Lord.

Grant entered the ring, sweatless, witless and basically clueless. He tired to slug it out with the much more experienced Lewis, then got caught in a clinch. Instead of grabbing Lewisí arms, Grant draped his arms around Lewisí shoulders. Dumb move. Lewis, his arms free, fired a right uppercut. Grant went down like he was shot out of a cannon. Then twice more before the bell rang ending the very painful, for Grant and the Stars and Stripes, first round.

In the second round, Grant again did the stupid clinch, but donít-grab-your-opponentís-arms maneuver. Lewis used his free left glove to pull Grantís head down. Then in a pendulum-like motion, Lewis fired a right uppercut flush on Grantís chin. Grant went down on his back again, his eyes rolling.

The move was an obvious foul, and cause for disqualification in a lessor fight, in a lessor limelight. But they robbed Lewis once in the New York City already, and the inept New York Stae Athletic Commission, and the surprisingly, and hopefully only for this night, inept referee Arthur Mercante Jr., knew better than to do anything even resembling a heist. Mercante Jr. did nothing, but bend down and count to ten, granting Lewis a KO at 2:39 of round two.

It was a bad night for the Yanks and and good night for the Brits. But like Bogart and Bergman always had Paris, weíll always have the Battle of Bunker Hill. God save the Brooklyn Bridge.


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